


The Rules of the Games We Play

by hopelesslydevoted



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 10:48:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5124716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopelesslydevoted/pseuds/hopelesslydevoted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two strangers meet to satisfy physical needs before heading their separate ways. It is supposed to be easy, but nothing's easy when both arrive with their own set of rules to keep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rules of the Games We Play

**Author's Note:**

> This was a story that I never planned to write, that I was not fully prepared to write. I'm just going to leave this here and go hide in the corner, blushed and slightly embarrassed. It's my first E, my first fic where smut actually leads to somewhere, so be kind in your comments. And when you do, let me know if you'd like continuance to this story. I could, but don't know yet, if I should.

Darren can't stop staring. _Shit._ He feels like a total creep, but it doesn't stop him either.

There are certain expectations when meeting someone online, _especially_ when looking for anonymous gay sex and don't exchange details or pictures. You expect a man in his forties with a wife, two kids and a house in the suburbs. And you feel lucky if you get someone in their late twenties or early thirties looking for something secret on the side. Although these types of details are never exchanged, you just know.

Darren knows what to expect. It isn't what Darren would want, the men or the circumstances, but it is what he is used to. It's not like he fucks strangers often. No, he hates all of this — almost as much as he hates his body for needing sex. Days on end, he can get by with his own hands. When he can't, he turns to alcohol. And when even alcohol is no longer enough to numb the signals his body is sending, Darren caves in. He takes what he can get and he gets what he deserves. And Darren accepts that he doesn't deserve much, not in his situation. He hasn't for the past few years.

_This_ isn't what Darren is supposed to get. A tall, toned body with long, slender limbs. Straight brown hair carefully styled. And the eyes - piercingly blue like the sea before a storm, dangerous and unpredictable. No, this isn't what anyone gets when looking for anonymous hook-ups. If you're lucky, this is what you get from a site with details, pictures and hints for something longer-term. And Darren still wouldn't get _him_ , because he wouldn't be the only one asking — and because he couldn't offer much, barely more than nothing at all.

The man, a boy really, is standing in front of Darren, not quite close enough to touch. There are no words between them, just the solid hum of the nearby highway, as they stand there in silence that neither of them seems quite willing to break. Being there, just the two of them in a cheap motel room, it feels awkward in a way that it didn't when they met in the diner next door less than half an hour ago.

He looks so painfully young that Darren is tempted to ask about his age. He doesn't. It feels as if it would be a violation of the tentative trust between them. Details are something people don't do in these situations. There is always a reason for anonymity, even if you don't fit the stereotypes. Darren knows it better than anyone else. Everyone has secrets, especially in this city built upon perceptions and deceptions.

He is only a boy with a timid look in his eyes, but Darren can't think of him that way. If he sees the boy in him, it feels like Darren is destroying something, innocence perhaps, all because of his own fucked up life. No, he can't focus too much on the boy. _He_ is a man who chose to come there, just like Darren did. Perhaps, not just like him, because Darren didn't really have a choice.

"I..." The boy takes a deep breath, as if to steel himself. "If we're going to do this, we need to set up some ground rules."

Suddenly, he is no longer a boy who is lost but a man who knows what he wants. He is still there, even if his eyes don't quite meet Darren's. He is still there, he is still willing. And the only thing Darren can do is nod, agreeing to whatever and hoping whatever won't be too much.

"No names, including pet names." The boy says, lifting his eyes to look at Darren. "And no details. I don't want to know about your work, family or friends."

If Darren felt a relief hearing the words, it was quickly buried under all the other things the boy makes him feel. Looking at the boy, Darren realizes he was wrong. There isn't a stormy sea captured in the blue eyes. They're like ice, cool and collected — and light, so light blue, regardless of the darkness slowly settling in the room. The boy hasn't even touched him yet, and Darren is amazed how a single look can send shiver down his spine.

"Okay."

Darren's reply is easy, quick. He needs the secrecy, perhaps more than the men bound in loveless marriages and the guys in unfulfilling relationships. There have been men who didn't fully understand this need. There have been guys who asked his name, even if it was only to have his name on their lips when they came or to convince themselves that it was more than a mindless fuck. Yet, even his name was much more than he could give.

The reply might be easy, quick, not as much as Darren would like. From the beginning, he got a feeling that this boy is different. It felt as if _he_ wanted the anonymity more than Darren. And for a moment at least, it felt as if Darren didn't want to hide behind the silence that kept him safe.

But Darren knows what he wants and what he needs to do to have it. He might be confident about his wants and needs, but there is a hint of hesitation on the boy's face.

"There are two other things that are non-negotiable. First of all, we use condoms, regardless of what we do." The boy says. His voice wavers a little and his eyes are cast down at the navy blue carpeting when he continues. "And I'm on top... in every sense of the word."

"Okay. Anything else?"

The boy instantly lifts his eyes. He's a deer in the headlights, as if he wasn't expecting to be accepted demands and all, as if he hadn't prepared himself for whatever comes next. But it takes only seconds for him to gather himself. The flash of the confused boy underneath is again hidden inside the man very much in control of himself.

There is a barely perceptible change in the way he keeps staring at Darren when he says the next words. "And don't touch my hair."

Darren has always been able to read the people around him with ease, sensing the energy others send off, but this boy _is_ different. He is hiding somewhere so deep behind the layers, of protection perhaps, that Darren can't read him at all. He can't even tell if he meant the last words or if it was just something to ease the tension between them. And perhaps, it is the mystery that pulls him near.

Darren steps closer and lifts his hand to touch the boy, but draws his hand away before contact. He realizes that there is a conversation they could have. They aren't new lovers who have days or weeks of tentative, playful touches to fall back on. They aren't even friends who have shared intimate details about themselves. They are nothing but two strangers fumbling through awkward first and last time.

Darren knows where they are headed, but not exactly how to get there. Yet, he doesn't want to have that conversation, not this time, not with this man. Darren wants the illusion that he doesn't need to ask. Just this once, he needs the illusion that he is not with a stranger.

Standing there inches away, Darren's eyes flicker to the pink, parted lips. A temptation that he has learned to resist. Usually, the guys Darren meets don't want that. They have someone else to trade kisses with. And somehow in their twisted minds, a kiss on the lips is a bigger betrayal than anything else they do. It's _fucking_ ridiculous, but Darren doesn't argue. He just takes what he can get, too tired to fight for more, even if it means that he hasn't kissed anyone in over a year, not in a way that counted anyway.

Darren doesn't kiss the boy. He doesn't want to ask, so he plays it safe. _No kisses on the lips and no marks on skin._ Darren knows the unspoken rules; he knows what is expected in arrangements like these. And he reminds himself that there are other things he can do.

Darren closes the gap. He pulls the boy in a tight embrace, winding his arms around the narrow waist. And Darren feels how the body stiffens in his arms. It takes a moment, the two of them standing there flushed against each other, until the tension starts wearing off. There is a hesitation, a few twitches of muscles receiving mixed messages, but arms are slowly wrapped around Darren's shoulders.

Darren is less shy. He buries his face at the crook of the neck, rubbing his face against the sensitive skin. Darren knows how abrasive his stubble must feel. He hasn't shaved, he hasn't styled his hair, he hasn't dressed to impress. Darren never does when he meets men like this. It feels safer that way. He does what he has always done; he tries to remember that this is just sex and to forget that there is anything beyond this moment.

The boy smells musky, masculine with undertones of something soft, sweet. Darren nuzzles the bare skin, breathing him in. When Darren's arms around him tighten, of their own volition, there is a low voice rumbling deep from the throat. He realizes it is the answer to the question that he didn't know he asked. It is a permission granted. Darren places the gentlest of kisses there, a brief, chaste brush of dry lips low on the column of the long neck. It's the first step, desperately uncertain.

The second step is easier, it always is. Darren presses his lips again on the same spot. This time it's not at all diffident. This time he licks his lips before they touch the skin that feels soft, cool under his mouth. Darren wants a taste of things to come. The tip of the tongue on the skin is not nearly enough. It is the taste that only makes him hungrier.

Darren starts planting soft, suckling kisses up the side of the neck. The boy accepts all of them, tilting his head in a silent plea for more. It isn't until the lips find their way to the softness just under the chiseled jaw when Darren really knows. The boy presses his body tighter against Darren's, as the fingers of a hand entangle in the curls on the back of Darren's neck. Darren knows how good it feels, even if the boy doesn't make a sound. He knows from the way that the fingers gently tug his hair, the way his hips buck up ever-so-slightly at the swirl of the tongue on the skin.

Darren slowly slides his hands down the boy's back, feeling the lean muscles underneath the shirt. When his fingers find the hem, Darren pulls back to look at him. They have barely begun, but lust is already evident on the boy's face. He stares at Darren with a half-lidded gaze, pupils almost fully blown.

"Can I?" Darren asks.

After a small nod, Darren helps the boy out of his shirt. _Fuck._ This is definitely not what Darren was ready for. With the shirt discarded on the floor, Darren can't tear his eyes away from everything that it hid underneath. The expanses of fair creamy skin would have been enough to catch Darren's breath, but there is more, much more. The boy is a beautiful blend of muscle definition and softness. Darren's hands reach to touch the bare skin of the lower stomach before he even realizes what he is doing or how greedy his fingers are.

Darren admires the revealed skin for a moment longer. He can't resist the temptation when the boy closes his eyes and tips his head back. Darren steps closer, bracketing the boy's hips with his hands, and briefly nuzzles the sensitive skin under the ear before latching onto it with his mouth. There is a breathy sigh that tells him that he is doing exactly what is right, what is needed.

Darren pulls the boy tighter against him, splaying the fingers of his hand on the small of the back, as he continues to trail wet kisses down the neck. The boy makes Darren feel desperate in ways he didn't expect. There is always a sense of urgency when two gay guys meet and sex is the only thing on the agenda. This time Darren isn't blindly chasing after the blissful high, taking advantage of the warm, pliant body against him to get there. It's not about the release, not anymore. Darren wants _him_ — almost more than the release. It's a desperate need that only grows with every second near him. It's a dangerous need.

Darren nips the delicate skin of the neck, careful not to leave a mark, as he slides his other hand lower, cupping the boy's cock through the thick layers of clothing. The boy is barely half-hard, but it's definitely enough to make Darren's own cock twitch with interest. And the choked sound that Darren draws out of the boy makes him ache a little.

There are two hands resting on Darren's shoulders, the warmth seeping through the shirt. The hands grip him harder when Darren begins his careful ministrations. Darren matches each suckle of a kiss on the bare skin with a roll of his palm on the cock. He is becoming drunk with equal parts of power and lust. The boy may bite down the noises he'd make, but he can't hide how his body reacts. Darren feels all of it; the nails almost digging into Darren's shoulders, the tiniest nudges of hips bucking up and the cock that quickly grows harder in the hand. And all of it makes Darren want him even more.

"I need -..." The boy's voice hoarse and thick in a way that tells Darren much more than the words themselves.

Darren pulls back to look at him. The boy looks gorgeous, wrecked in a way he wasn't a moment ago. His freckled cheeks burn red, his eyes are black with lust. He is breathing heavily, almost panting through the wet, parted lips. The lips, the beautiful, red, that hold Darren's eyes captive. _Did he bit them to keep his silence?_ Darren smothers the smile at the thought of it.

When Darren wakes up from his reverie, he realizes that the fingers are no longer gripping his shoulders. They are curled into the fabric of his shirt. And he knows exactly what the boy wants.

"Yeah, yeah." Darren replies quickly.

In a swift motion, Darren removes his shirt. The blue eyes immediately drop to his chest, lingering there where Darren's heart is hammering inside his ribcage. Darren knows the boy is still reeling from things he did, but he hopes that the ragged, unsteady breaths are at least in part a reaction to the way he looks.

As the shirt drops to the floor, Darren feels fingertips on his wrists, slowly running up his arms. The touch is so light that it almost tickles, making the hair on Darren's arms stand on end. And then, the hands splay on his chest, slowly sliding down his torso. The blue eyes follow the trail. The touch grows lighter again, fingertips ghosting over the abdomen. When the hands reach where Darren's jeans are hanging low, the fingers splay to the sides, grab his hips and haul him in.

When Darren feels the sweet, little kisses moving down from his jaw to his shoulder, his eyes flutter shut. The hands remain there on his hips. Darren is almost dizzy with need, struggling to hold on to remainders of his restrain, struggling to remember why he needs the restrain.

Every time it feels as if it has been too long since the last time. This time it feels that way even more than previously, because there is a beautiful, half-naked boy kissing his shoulder. With the scrape of the teeth, Darren tips his head back and winces, not because of pain, but because of pleasure that caught him off guard. And he can't stop himself; he rocks his hips against the boy, just once, in search of friction.

When the boy takes a step back, Darren barely manages to suffocate the whimper. A part of him, which is still grounded in reality, is afraid. The only way to hide just how desperately Darren wants him, only him, is by keeping the boy at an arms-length, physically and emotionally. But the boy doesn't allow it. There is a hand on the back of Darren's neck, luring him back. It is there, although Darren persistently keeps his eyes closed. The hand slides from his neck to his cheek. It feels too tender, too sweet. At the feel of thumb caressing his cheek bone, Darren opens his eyes to see the blue ones looking straight at him.

"God, you're gorgeous." The boy says quietly, hand warm and secure on his cheek.

There is no hesitation, no uncertainty in his voice. The words almost break Darren. _You can't say things like that, not if you keep staring at me like that, touching like me like that._ Darren has been called hot and sexy by the men he has fucked with. Rarely gorgeous. Never in a way that it sounded like they actually meant it. Any beautiful words in the past had been nothing more than signs of gratitude as he did something they wanted. This time it's different. This time the words are laid out as if it is an undeniable truth. And this time Darren has done nothing to deserve them. All of it feels so intense that Darren has to look away.

"Can you take off your pants and go to the bed?" The voice is soft, tender that coaxes Darren back to the moment.

A shiver runs down Darren's body; he is no longer encapsulated by the warmth of another man. The sudden distance reminds him that all of this will come to an end, sooner rather than later. After an hour or so, Darren will walk out of the door and return to his life as if nothing happened, as if this encounter didn't change him in some intricate way.

Darren glances at the boy who is standing with his back turned towards him, searching for something from the pockets of the jacket he discarded earlier on the sofa. Remembering his request, Darren quickly takes off his jeans and socks. He doesn't stop there. Although the boy said nothing about underwear, Darren removes them anyway. He doesn't want to rush, but he can't stall either. Every minute spent with the boy is dangerous, because he gets under Darren's skin in a way that makes confused, makes him want things he can't have, things he shouldn't have.

When Darren pulls the obnoxious, floral bed cover aside and settles on the bed, his hard cock flopping against his stomach, the boy returns and puts lube and an unopened packet of condoms on the nightstand. He flicks the table lamp on before he starts removing rest of his own clothes, slowly and meticulously.

Darren is propped up on his elbows, watching the boy. He isn't feeling too shy to look at him undress, but he isn't too bold to touch his own cock while admiring every inch of exposed skin. Every single inch. The soft light of the bedside lamp does miraculous things to his fair skin. The boy is beautiful, not in a way that makes him look like a model or a porn star. No, he is beautiful in a way that makes him real. (And it turns Darren on much, much more.) Darren wants to say it to him, although he shouldn't. But the words die on his lips when the boy places his knee on the bed and crawls to him on all fours.

The boy hovers over him with his hands and knees on either side Darren, staring at Darren who has settled down, head resting on a pillow. For a moment, it feels as if the boy wants to say something. There are words lingering on Darren's lips as well; there is a need to search for a connection deeper than the touch. Still, Darren doesn't quite know how to begin or what to say, so he remains quiet. There aren't usually a lot of words wasted in these situations anyway.

The boy carefully lays his body on Darren's like Darren is precious, fragile and he's afraid that he'll break. Darren closes his eyes at the feel of another man's body weighing heavy and hard on his own. He wants to wrap his arms around him, to pull him tighter against him, but he doesn't. Instead, Darren presses his palms flat against the bed sheets.

After the boy nudges Darren's head to the side, he kisses his neck, long and eager kiss that is not quite enough to leave a mark. Darren manages to bite down the moan, but he can't stop himself from shifting a little underneath the boy, from opening his legs. It's not a conscious move. It is his body asking for what it needs at the feel of a hard cock brushed against his own. And the boy responds by placing his knees between Darren's.

The boy slowly starts trailing kisses down Darren's chest. His hand is slightly lower on the body than the mouth as if mapping out the bare skin before heading there with his wet, parted lips. At the brush of fingertips on his nipple, Darren snaps his eyes open. 

The lips on Darren's bare skin feel blissful, making Darren ache for more. The boy does give him more, but only a tease, horrible and delicious tease. Darren arches his back, when the hot mouth is almost on his nipple. The tip of the tongue swirls a circle around it, careful not to touch the hardened bud before the mouth continues its journey down, making Darren whine and writhe under the boy — just a little. He's back in his inner turmoil because all of it feels too good, too quick.

When the boy comes up for a moment to take the lube and condoms from the nightstand, Darren is tempted to ask him to stop, to slow down. He wants this to last, because he doesn't know when he can get anything as good as this again. He wants to take things slow, even if it's safer to rush. But Darren doesn't ask, because he is already too far gone, too eager to get those perfects lips back on his skin.

With the condoms and lube on the bed next to Darren, the boy pulls away and sits back on his calves. He licks his lips as his eyes slowly rake down Darren's body, settling on the cock throbbing incessantly. Darren keeps his eyes on the boy's face, not wanting to miss the hungry look. He shifts a little, he has to. It is his hopeless attempt to hide the shudder brought on by the piercing blue eyes on him. A reaction that must have been obvious because the boy reaches out to touch him.

The boy places his hands on Darren's knees, sliding them up his thighs. He doesn't touch him where Darren needs it the most, not right away. The boy's hands travel up to Darren's chest until he pulls them back down with only fingertips on the skin. Darren's abdomen contract under the lightest of touches. He can barely breathe; every breath goes in and comes out staggered. As much as he likes to watch, he has to look away, because it's too much. As he brushes his fingers over the cock, it jerks up, begging for more. And then, the fingers are no longer on him.

There is a familiar crinkle of the condom wrapper being opened that make the muscles deep within Darren clench with the anticipation. The involuntary reaction of his body feels like a betrayal to his conscious mind. Darren desperately wants the boy inside him, but he can't help but be bitter that things are headed towards the quick release. When the boy takes Darren's cock in his hand instead of his own, unrolling the condom on it, Darren can't hold back the sharp intake of breath. He lifts his head to look down at the boy who is comfortable settled between Darren's legs, lips inches away from his cock.

"It's okay. You don't. It's okay." Darren says hastily between the gasps.

The boy is lying on his stomach; his own cock is neglected, pinned between the bed and his own body, but he seems to be in no hurry to leave. He stares at Darren intently as he gives the cock a couple of steady strokes. And it must be written on Darren's face, how desperately he needs all of this, because the boy doesn't stop. He runs his nose against the underside of Darren's cock and places a few gentle, chaste kisses on the swollen shaft.

"I won't... if you don't want me to."

And then, the beautiful, pink lips are resting against the tip of the cock as if daring Darren to deny him again. There are some things Darren can't deny himself. This is definitely one of those things, so he doesn't stop the boy.

The visual alone, the blue eyes staring into his as the lips sink down over the cock, is enough to make Darren ache with the sweet mixture of pleasure and anticipation. Still, it's nothing compared to how it feels. It might not be the wet mouth on a bare skin, but it is too much — the press of lips tight around his cock that buried deep into the hot mouth. And the boy hasn't even moved yet. Darren can't help it; his head tips back to the pillow, chest arching into it, and eyes flutter shut. He feels the vibrations of a pleased hum that the boy makes seeing Darren's reaction.

Darren can't look. If he looked, things would be over embarrassingly soon, regardless of the fact that there is a layer of latex muffling the sensations and regardless of the fact that he jerked off only hours ago. But keeping his eyes closed doesn't take away from the feel of it; it makes it feel more intense.

The boy slowly starts bopping his head on Darren's cock, lightly sucking at each upward motion. He doesn't take him very deep, he doesn't pull away completely either. And his hand is wrapped around the base of the shaft, stroking whatever his lips don't reach. It is too slow, too soft to make Darren come — deliberately, no doubt — but it feels too good after days, weeks, verging on months without anything like this. Darren can no longer bite back the moan. It's not lewd, but it's definitely not intentional. It's Darren getting much, much more than he deserves.

Darren's fingers are itching to touch the boy, to entwine into his hair. He doesn't, he can't, he shouldn't. Darren presses the hands harder against the bed, fingers twisting the sheets instead. His whole body is strung tight like a string of a guitar, trying to keep himself in control. Darren is trying not to touch the boy, not to move his hips to sink deeper into the warmth.

When Darren's thigh twitches a few times, muscles involuntarily spasming with the pleasure of it all, a hand is placed warm and heavy just above his knee. It slowly slides up the tender inner thigh, and Darren spread his legs wider. The hand is there, calming him, grounding him, until it isn't.

The lips don't leave Darren's cock, even if the movement stutters a bit for a moment. Darren is too overwhelmed by everything that almost misses the snick of the plastic cap on the lube being flipped open. Then, there are two wet, cool fingers on his entrance, circling the muscle there. It is slow and taunting, reminding him of what he has been missing.

"Please." Darren's plea comes out breathy.

Darren has never been above begging. He doesn't do it willingly, he doesn't do it quite this early. Something about this boy makes him slowly lose control, bit by bit. Perhaps, it is the way he touches him over and over again with unbearable tenderness — and confident teasing. And when one finger slightly dips in, Darren lets go a little more, reluctantly. The boy gently eases the finger a little deeper, drawing out a sound out of Darren that is somewhere between a gasp and a sob. It is as unintentional as the roll of Darren's hips, rocking against the finger.

The boy works him open, finger by finger, even if it isn't really necessary. Darren has done this enough times. He has learned not to arrive unprepared, not to leave himself at the mercy of someone he can't trust. Darren was ready the moment he left home. And the boy must feel it too. He must notice how open he is, how easily his fingers sink into him. The boy works him open anyway, making Darren feel safe and cared for which is dangerous in a whole other way.

It is a delicious dual sensation of mouth on his cock and fingers inside him, stretching him open with one, two, three fingers. Each movement is so careful and deliberate that Darren knows the boy isn't as innocent as he seems. He is a man who knows what he is doing and how to do it.

The boy doesn't seek for the bundle of nerves inside that Darren desperately wants him to find. But the curl of his fingers, almost circling that spot, tells Darren that the boy _truly_ knows what he is doing and how to do it. The boy is deliberately torturing him, edging on pure pleasure, but never tipping over. And it's maddening, hot all at the same time.

Darren is on the verge of becoming a whimpering mess when everything suddenly stops. The hot mouth is no longer on him and the fingers pull away. Perhaps, Darren does whimper a little when the condom is stripped off from him accompanied by a few firm strokes on his leaking, throbbing cock. And perhaps, he needs to take a few deep breaths to calm himself down. When Darren finally opens his eyes, the boy is staring at him, with hands unrolling the condom onto himself.

"Are you sure you want this? We don't..." The boy says quietly, hands stilling on his cock.

"Y-yes." Darren's voice wavers, but he gives a tiny smile as an encouragement.

The boy hesitates briefly, staring into Darren's eyes, before he takes the lube from the bed. Darren spreads his legs further apart, bending his knees and bringing his feet flat on the bed. He looks at the boy, licking his lips at the sight of the gorgeous cock. Soon, it will be inside him, filling him up. The boy drizzles lube on himself and gives a few steady strokes, biting into his lower lip.

The boy places a warm palm on Darren's hip, while the other hand remains on his own cock. Then, there is some kind of silent understanding between them when they move. Darren lifts his hips a little and the boy scoots closer to him, pulling Darren partially on him. Darren's strong thighs are resting on the boy's legs, his ass on the boy's lap, but his back and shoulders still lie flat on the bed. The boy still has his hand on Darren's hip, fingers almost curling to the tight muscles of his ass, while he lines himself up with the other. With the press of a thick cock on his stretched entrance, Darren has to fight the urge to rock against it. He waits, barely being able to breathe as the need washes over him.

Darren needs the boy inside of him. It doesn't matter what his name is, what he does, where he came from or why he is doing this. It doesn't even matter if Darren will ever see him again. None of it matters. The boy is here with him right now. And Darren needs him, whoever he is, everything and anything he is. He needs him _right now_.

The boy pushes in slowly, carefully. The cock, the gorgeous, glorious cock, is finally inside of Darren. It's not overly large, long or thick, although it's more than Darren dared to hope for.

Darren breathes through it all, feeling the clenching muscles relax, feeling the sting of the burn subside. It's definitely a stretch; it's been too long since the last time, more than usually, so nothing could have really prepared him for this. It's still a heady, achy feeling, being filled this way, making him want more.

The boy pauses, giving Darren time to adjust more than needed. Perhaps, he needs it as well. The boy waits eyes closed, his head hanging low. The brown hair is falling on his forehead as his chest rises and falls with every deep breath. Staring at the boy, Darren can't believe his luck. Just this once, he can't believe he gets to have this — this gorgeous man. Just this once. And then, the boy lifts his head and looks at Darren.

"You okay?"

Darren nods, because he isn't sure whether he could answer without stuttering and stumbling over the words. And it is then, when wait starts hurting more than the stretch, that Darren doesn't need to wait anymore.

The boy moves carefully at first, pulling out and pressing back in. It is the tiniest nudges of his hips, small thrusts half-in and half-out as if testing what feels good, for himself and — more importantly, it seems — for Darren. He is building it up slowly, going a little deeper, pulling away a little further. And the blue eyes stay relentlessly on Darren, as if he doesn't want to miss the tiniest signals he is sending.

The hand on Darren's hips slides under him, grasping at the firm ass cheek. The grip is confident, almost possessive. A relieved sight escapes from Darren's lips; he had been waiting for the touch, yearning for it. The boy doesn't stop to appreciate it. Instead, he encourages Darren to lift his hips a little with his hand and leans himself a little forward. And then, Darren clenches his eyes shut and cries out loud. It's the tiniest shift in the angle, but it makes all the difference. This time the sound he makes is a little pornographic, even if it's still unintentional.

The boy is moving his hips back and forth in a way that is more of a slow grind than anything else. With every swivel of the boy's hips, the cock brush against just the right spot inside Darren, every time going in and coming out. Darren can't stop himself; he starts screwing himself on the cock, meeting every thrust. And the boy starts driving into Darren a little harder, little sharper.

Darren is quickly, too quickly, becoming lost in the haze, losing himself in everything he is feeling. His eyes are clenched shut, eyebrows furrowing in what must be a pained look on his face. His hands are twisting, white-knuckling the sheets underneath. His body, the muscles on his legs, abs and back, are tensing and relaxing with the lapping waves of want and need.

It is the lightest touch that brings Darren back, fingertips grazing over his hand. Darren blinks his eyes open. Seeing the intensity in the boy's eyes, Darren has no doubt that the boy has kept his eyes on him this whole time, watching him and taking in all the signs of his heightened arousal. And seeing the boy this way, flushed and breathing heavily through his parted lips, it just takes Darren closer to the edge. Darren's fingers twitch under the boy's fingertips.

"I need. I need to..."

Darren struggles to get the words out. His legs start to shake when is lifting his hips a little more. He wonders when, how he became this weak, trembling thing. Darren can't do, or even ask for, what he needs. He has to close his eyes. But Darren doesn't have to ask, because the boy knows, he understands.

The hand that was touching Darren's fingers is pulled away. And for a moment, nothing changes; the boy keeps fucking into him with the steady pace, as his fingers are digging into the muscles of Darren's ass. Then, Darren feels it, a hand placed on his cock, soft and gentle.

"Please." Darren's voice is thick, hoarse, laced with quiet despair.

Darren _is_ desperate, he can't hide it. He can't smother the groan when the hand wraps around his cock. The first stroke is a soft, slick slide down that makes Darren involuntarily twitch, the muscles inside of him clenching. It's a heady realization that it is the same hand the boy had used to slick lube on his own cock. The other is still there, holding Darren's ass in its palm.

When the boy starts jerking him off, firm grip moving like it is working towards a goal, Darren can't stop the breathy prayers and needy requests of _please, please, more, don't stop_ pouring out of him. He is enjoying everything he can get, eyes closed and panting. He is quickly spinning out of control with the intensity of _everything_  after too soft, too slow built-up. It is as if the hand on him is leading the way while the cock inside him is pushing him forward, nearer the edge.

If Darren were any less affected by the things he is experiencing, he would notice how the thrusts are becoming ragged, falling out of rhythm. A sign of the despair the boy must be feeling too. Perhaps, Darren does notice, but he is too far gone, too close to the edge, to revel in the way the boy is slowly falling apart as well. Only thing Darren can do is open his eyes, because he doesn't want to miss it. He doesn't want to miss the pleasure on the boy's face.

The boy guides Darren back against the bed before lowering himself closer to Darren. He is lying on top of him, almost crowding him. He is closer, but still too far with all the space between them. The boy braces himself with a forearm laid flat on the bed next to Darren, keeping himself up and off Darren's chest, while the other hand is still caught between them. With his chin to his chest, he is looking down between their bodies, where his hand working Darren's cock, rubbing wet smears of precome on both of them.

The boy slows down, his hand and his hips. All of it becomes too slow, antagonizing. It is not nearly enough to push Darren over the edge, but just close enough to manage to keep him there, painfully close with muscles tensing and quivering. And when the boy lifts his eyes to meet Darren's, eyes black with lust, he must see it, how badly Darren needs this.

"I can't. Fuck. Please, don't. I need to come." The words are rushed, frantic, but Darren can't stop them.

The boy swallows hard and glances down at his hand on Darren's cock, licking his lips at the sight, as he continues with the same torturous pace. Darren is almost shaking with need, because it is too slow, too intense. He squeezes his eyes shut and tilts his head back, harder against the pillow, slightly arching chest. A warm hand snakes on the back of his neck while the other never stops slowly fisting his cock. Just when Darren thinks he can't take it anymore, he feels it. A barely-there brush of soft lips against his own that almost breaks Darren — in the best possible way.

And then, the boy leans in. Darren can't hold back the sob at the feel of the press of wet, parted lips on his own. It's been too long, too long since he has been kissed. Being kissed this way, lips against lips, during sex _does_ break him. The kiss is almost too sweet, too tender for the moment, like something shared between lovers, making Darren forget if only for a fraction of a second that he doesn't know the boy at all.

The hands that were only a second ago twisting the sheets underneath are gripping the boy, one hand on his neck, the other low on his hip reaching for his ass. Darren pulls the boy hard against him, crushing their lips together. When the boy licks the seams of his lips, Darren opens jaw wider. An invitation that the boy happily accepts, slipping his tongue into Darren's mouth and sliding against his tongue. There is a faint aftertaste of latex. And suddenly, the memory of the blowjob blends with everything that is happening at that moment. Darren can't hold it back any more. He begins to come, writhing and shaking, clenching tight around the cock inside him.

When Darren finally lets go, the orgasm rattling his body, he is free from everything that imprisoned him, free from everything that weights him down. He dives head first, deep into the pleasure, losing touch with everything around him. Almost everything. Darren can hear the vague moans and groans, not only his own, as if they are coming somewhere far away. He can feel a few particularly sharp, deep thrust against the sweet spot inside him that make his body flinch with aftershocks. And then, nothing else, nothing else, but soft, warm waves of pleasure flowing from his crotch to his whole body. Darren is free, if only for a moment.

Darren lies on the bed, eyes closed listening to his own breathing. His lips are tingling with the intensity of the orgasm and with the desire to kiss again. He is lightweight, floating down from the blissful high where nothing can reach, no-one can touch him. It is the rustle of the sheets next to him that yanks him back to the reality, back to the ground. The fall is as quick, hard as the ride to the top, if not more.

Darren opens his eyes, his body still thrumming with pleasure. He watches as the boy gets up and walks over to the bathroom, naked, gorgeous. The door is left cracked open, light beaming to the room. Darren doesn’t see him, not from where he is lying on the bed. He hears the water running from the faucet. The distance, the silence between them, comes in too soon, too strong.

When the boy returns, he is cleaned up, carrying a washcloth. There are no signs on him that he just had sex, except the blush lingering on his cheeks and the swollen, spent cock hanging between his thighs. And with all traces of the things they shared washed away, a part of Darren wants to pull him back to bed. He wants to do all of it again, to leave a mark on his skin, to leave a mark deeper than that. It’s not about ownership, it’s about not being forgotten. Darren wants to return to his life knowing that somewhere there is a beautiful boy carrying a memory of him.

The boy is standing next to the bed, clutching the washcloth in his hand. Darren can sense that something has irreversibly changed. The assuredness is gone. The intensity vanished. The affection washed away as easily as the other remnants of their moment together. Those things were never Darren's to have anyway. He can't help but wonder if he just imagined it all — especially the affection. For a moment, the boy looks away as if trying to hide his own inner struggle. And then, he glances at the bed and drops the washcloth next to Darren. Whatever he had in his mind is gone.

"Thanks."

While the boy gathers his clothes from the floor, Darren carelessly wipes himself with the wet washcloth. He is feeling sated, drowsy. His arms feel too heavy to move, his legs too lax to carry his weight. But it is the feeling inside that keeps him in the bed; he isn't ready to let go of this, whatever this is. Darren pulls the blanket to his chest and looks at the boy standing next to the bed with his underwear back on.

"You don't have to leave yet." Darren says quietly, drawing the blue eyes on him.

"I don't..." The boy looks away before he continues. "... do afterglow."

Darren can’t believe he asked the boy to stay. He knows the rules of the game, he has played this before. This is just sex. And when both parties have reached an orgasm, it’s time to clean up, put clothes on and leave without looking back. Darren knows all of this. Yet, there is a sting of hurt accompanied with the boy's reply. And Darren asks himself a question he probably shouldn't: _Is it because of something he did or didn't do?_

"Ummm... okay."

Darren can't do anything, except quietly watch the boy as he continues to dress himself. The boy pulls on his jeans, fastening the buttons with his back turned towards Darren. Then, he turns to look at Darren, fiddling with the shirt in his hands. He hesitates briefly before pulling it over his head.

It breaks Darren a little — not like earlier, not at all in a good way — to see him standing there fully clothed, almost ready to leave. And Darren is powerless to stop the boy, the same way he is powerless to stop any of the _bullshit_ that put him in this situation. (He can't be too bitter that his life led him here, allowing him this brief moment of bliss with the beautiful boy.) Walking away, or being walked away on, has never been quite this painful.

”Do you... Do you want to do this again someday?” Darren says quietly as he watches the boy put on his shoes.

Darren tries to sound casual, but doesn't succeed. He cringes hearing how weak, desperate he sounds, but keeps his eyes on the boy. The nimble fingers tying the shoelaces stutter, if only for a moment. The boy doesn't look up.

Darren knows he is overstepping boundaries, asking for more than they had agreed to. He has no regrets, not about this, and he doesn't want to have any when goes back to his life.

Darren asks for more, because that’s what people do when they get a taste of something more than they deserve. He asks for more, although it would be easier, safer, wiser not to. In this moment, he expects nothing but hopes for the best. Darren has always been the guy who reaches for things just beyond his grasp. Perhaps, he doesn’t do it that much anymore, not at all really, not after life taught him that he can't have it all, beating him into this silent submission. But just this once, Darren asks for more.

With the shoelaces tied up, nice and neat, the boy stands up. He slides his jacket on. Then, he finally looks up, straight into Darren’s eyes. Darren doesn't know whether he should fear it or hope for it, but he wonders whether the boy sees how Darren still wants him, needs him.

The boy walks over to the bed and holds his hand palm up. “Give me your phone.”

Without leaving the bed, Darren fishes his phone from the pockets of his jeans. He pauses briefly before handing it over to the boy. There is the tiniest of changes in the expression on the boy's face when he unlocks the phone, eyes on the screen. A flicker of a smile perhaps. It's enough to make Darren think that he must have the most beautiful smile. If only the boy would share it with him... Darren is staring at the boy's lips so intently that he almost misses what the boy says next.

"Text me if you want to do this again. I might say yes or I might not. Let's not make a big deal out of this."

It takes Darren a moment until the words really sink in. The boy is giving his number to Darren, putting it directly on his phone. Darren shouldn’t be surprised, not with anything the boy does, but he is. He is surprised, not that he shows it.

The boy looks up from the screen, offering the phone to Darren when he’s done. When Darren grabs it, the boy doesn’t let go, instead his eyes narrow as he continues to stare at Darren.

"Don't abuse this. Don't call me three in the morning when you're trying to get home from a bar and you're drunk as fuck."

Darren nods. He wants to thank the boy — for the number, for the sex or for something much more, Darren doesn't know. He doesn't say a word, because it doesn't feel right. It doesn't feel like something the boy would accept. When the boy finally lets go of the phone, Darren looks at the number on the screen, staring at the name attached to the number. But it isn't a name, it's just one letter.

"C?" Darren says, glancing up from the mobile screen.

The boy is already standing at the door, his hand on the door knob and back turned towards Darren. Darren knows he is on thin ice. He knew it before he saw the tension on the boy's shoulders. Darren can only hope the ice is thick enough to carry him and his unthinking question.

"That's all you get for now." The words come out cool and collected as the boy goes back to being a man very much in control of himself.

As Darren watches the boy walk out the door without a single glance back, he can't help but feel as if he received much, much more than he deserved. And it is a dangerous feeling, because it leaves him wanting more. It leaves him wanting for things he can't have, not in his situation. For this reason, Darren needs to remind himself of the most important rule, the one that remained unspoken. _Don't fall in love._


End file.
